A Clown and a Psychologist
by amuzdbylife
Summary: A man with scars on his face must have faced a shrink at some point in his life. What if this played a major role forming him into the criminal that he would one day become...The Joker.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own any of these characters. They belong to DC comics and the movies based on said characters. This is my first post so please read and review.

--

Polished, black-leather shoes clap against the floor as the woman continues her confident stride towards her office. She wears black slacks and a red blouse as her jacket is slung over her arm. She enters an elevator and emerges facing her secretary.

"Your patient is in your office waiting for you, Dr. Quinzel," the secretary announces.

"Fran, I don't have any scheduled for a session today. You know that on Wednesdays that I catch up on paperwork," Harleen leaned on her secretary's desk, releasing a sigh as her elbows met the marble surface. "Sometimes you just seem to act without any regard to the consequences…now I have to run this 'patient' out of my office possibly worsening his condition."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Quinzel. It will never happen again," Fran told Harleen exactly what she wanted to hear and the sarcasm flew under Harleen Quinzel's radar.

"And the next time this happens, I can assure you that you will tell me exactly the same thing." Harleen erected her stance and then marched into her office.

The patient was not on her couch where most people lodged themselves after entering her office. The only hint of anyone in the room was that her chair had been spun to face away from her desk.

As the door closed and the latch clanked shut, her chair whirled and her newest patient was revealed to her.

Tattered and torn dress shoes landed on her desk. First one landed with a loud thud and then the other foot perched atop that ankle.

Dr. Harleen Quinzel placed her hands on her hips and frustration flooded her face.

"Uh…Why so serious, toots?" the man issued from the chair and then followed by licking his lips, his tongue flicking like a snake. "I thought that this place was set up so that you could help people."

The flick of the tongue pierced Harleen's haze of annoyance and her gaze fell to the face of her guest. The visage of the man's pale face was marred by two red scars; one jutting from each side of his mouth. Messy, brown hair spilled over onto his forehead.

Ignoring his question, Harleen sighed and then uttered more to herself than to her guest, "And here I thought that I was going to get some work done today."

"But aren't people like…uh…me, your work?" a little chuckle…

"No. People like you who schedule before dropping in, are my work," responded Dr. Quinzel.

"Why be discriminate? Aren't mental patients without appointments just as deranged as those with them?" the man spun around in the chair laughing hysterically.

"Alright…Fine…I'll bite. What can I do for you? What has brought you here?" Harleen spoke the words without interest in what he had to say. She didn't care if he opened up left the room. She planned not to invest anything in him.

"Well, the doctors," he licked his lips, "they have asked me to seek help. And by asked, I mean forced." He laughed, amused by his attempt at a joke. "They gave me two choices. I could either see a shrink, that's you, or find myself within padded walls." He hugged himself, imitating the confinement of a straightjacket. "It seems they didn't trust my smile."

"And just why have you chosen me?" huffed Harleen.

He reached into his jacket. His hand returned with a glimmer and the flap of paper. He stabbed a knife down into her desk. Skewered onto the knife was an ad sliced from the Yellow Pages. He pointed to it and she inched closer until she could read what it said. It was an ad for her operation of Psychological consultation. Her name had been changed with the assistance of a permanent marker. It now read Harle Quin.

"You see, I thought that if were to consult someone about a smile, my best bet would be a harlequin." His hands covered his face in order to conceal is chuckle. The muffled laugh grew louder and he dropped his hands. He clenched his stomach and the laughter became explosive. With his teeth bared, his scars wrinkled with each burst of sound that issued from his mouth.

He fell into the floor with his laughter and Harleen Quinzel knew that it would be a long day at the office and that none of her plans would come to fruition.


	2. Chapter 2

Again. I do not own these characters. I guess you may have noticed that my Harleen Quinzel isn't the typical version, but that is because I am not a real big fan of the original. But she will not always be as much of a bitch as she is right now. I guess that's all I have to say atm…On with the show.

--

While the man was still on the floor, Harleen wiggled the knife back and forth until she could pry it free from her desk. She tossed it into a desk drawer before offering her hand to the man on the floor.

"You're quite young to be advising people on all stages of life, Ms. Quinn," the man said before taking her hand and climbing to his feet.

"I've had all the classes and interned under the best. I know what I am doing."

"You know," a remaining chuckle escaped, "they say that the best teacher is experience. You…uh…you seem to be…lacking in that area, I'd bet."

"You don't know anything about me. I disprove of your condemning demeanor. I am not going to listen to this shit in my office," Dr. Quinzel spat and then tried to regain her composure.

"You're…uh…you're right. I don't know you. But I do know your type." The man pointed at her and continued his evaluation. "You're the type that has a straight spine even in the most tranquil of occasions. You. Don't. Know. How. To. Smile." He mocked a smile and ran his fingers along the scars on his cheeks. "What a shame that is when you have such a lovely name."

"Names have nothing to do with personality. I'd wager that your name would put in mind a very different person than the one standing before me. Just give it a go. What's your name?"

"Jack. Jack Napier. It's a pleasure to meet you." He bowed while keeping his face and his smile trained on her.

"See. Jack. I was right. That's a very common name whereas you are anything but."

"Ms. Quinn…you disappoint me so. You fail to realize the weight a name can have on a child. And you also seem to have classified me, using only my face, to designate me as 'anything but common.' I'm sure that your colleagues would be very proud to see your shortcomings and your general-eye-zations." Jack stretched out the words in hopes to increase its impact.

"That's Doctor and Quinzel. My name is not Ms. Quinn as you have dubbed me. Your actions have shaped my opinions of you. I won't deny that they did however have a little help from your appearance. Those scars can't help but to alter one's life."

"I see that you are not a person that believes that such things can be readily overcome." He licked his lips. "I like that. It means that you at least have some thought behind this cold, hard, bitch façade that you have used as a shield." He got close to her face. She thought that she could see hints of green in his hair. "What's the matter, toots? Was no one taking you seriously?" He laughed madly.

"I believe that you are here to talk about you and not to talk about me," said Harleen, blocking his attempts to get in her head.

"It's no fun to just blather on about me. It's much more fun to share." He donned a serious demeanor. "After all…sharing is caring." His laughs brought him to sitting on the couch, rolling from side to side.

"I only care so far as it gets the job done." The ice within Harleen's heart displayed itself. "Now let's talk about those scars."


	3. Chapter 3

Characters belong to DC Comics

Characters belong to DC Comics. I am just borrowing them. :p

"You're quite…uh…direct, Ms. Quinn." Jack Napier's tongue flicked out and licked his lips while his green eyes scrolled down Dr. Quinzel, studying her intently. "I hope that is not an indication of a lack of," he paused, "patience on your part." The end of patience was drawn sounding like the hiss of a snake. "I would hate to think that you are," another pause and scrolling glance, "lacking in virtues."

A shiver ran up her spine with each glance that he sent her way. "I have plenty of virtues about me. I just choose when and where, as well as to whom, I display them." Jack rolls his eyes. Harleen continues, "You show up unannounced with a request from your doctors or whoever to be heard. I am trying to hear what you have to say but the only time you wish to open up is to enquire about my attributes…now please begin your tale."

Jack's tongue flipped around his mouth and his lips smacked. He dusted off a small portion of his navy suit while the rest remained covered. He climbed onto the couch and sat on the back of it.

"Well, shall we begin story time? I think that you, boys…and…uh...girls, will enjoy the tale we have for you today." He imitated Mr. Rogers when he spoke. He mimed opening a large book and flipping through its pages. "This story is called '_The Face of a Dead Star.'"_

The Children's entertainer left his voice as a cackle burst out into full blown fit of laughter. Jack almost fell off of the back of the couch, being forced to abandon his laugh in order to grab the rim of the couch for balance. A small chuckle escaped and this his story resumed.

"Young Jack Napier lived alone with his mother. He never knew his father, although, his mother, my…uh mother, she assured him, me, that he wasn't worth getting knowing. But she…uh…she was a wretched woman…God rest her soul." Jack slid down onto the couch and was then up and pacing as he talked.

"I was the only family that my mom had, and as fate would have it, I was, how shall I say this…" he rolled his eyes, glancing into his head for the words, "sub-uh par." Jack let out a small sigh. "You see, she always wanted a daughter." The symbols of daughter were both drawn out. "Each time we saw a movie with a bee-you-tee-full actress or each time we passed a love-uh-lee lady on the street she would glance at me in disgust. And once we were safe in our home, or every night when she tucked me into my bed and wished me sweet dreams, she would…uh... tell me…remind me…just to make sure that I remembered…how much she wished that I was a wee…little…lass."

Harleen began to find that she was focusing more on the pauses than on the words. Her eyes followed his stroll around the room and came together as he approached her desk. His story stopped as he perched upon her desk to make sure he had her attention.

"Now, as you might imagine, what with your degree, is that this took quite a toll on a young boy. I was constantly under the guidance and supervision of a woman that wished that I was something that I could never be. I...uh…strived to be as close to what she wanted as possible. I took on the responsibilities of a young lady, but even that wasn't enough. Then was just a little boy acting like a little girl, which was worse than just being a little boy.

"You can imagine that with this mess brewing at home…I was never the popular one at school." He gave a small chuckle at the thought of popularity. "And the only thing that not having any friends at school did for me was allow me to spend more time at home with dear…sweet…mum." Jack's head dropped shook and then returned to its upright position.

"She despised me even more in my teenage years. When I didn't have menstruation to signal the arrival of womanhood but instead had the '_sinful_' urges of teenage boy, she nearly kicked me out of the house…but that wouldn't come to fruition until a later date. For now we just lived together in mutual…dis-har-mon-ee. We both eagerly anticipated the day when I would graduate and 'spread my wings,' as they say.

"That day soon came and when it did, I…uh...flew right into Gotham University. It was more of a crash landing than anything though. I had never been on my own and my mother had failed miserably to prepare me for anything other than rocking back and forth in a little ball. And that is just what I did. It caused me to lose my scholarships and landed me up in a shithole apartment. I worked at a small convenient store…thought of myself as kind of a mentally scarred, American version of Apu. And that was when my mother came to town.

"She found me in this crime-infested, corrupt, little slice of paradise and had more to say than ever. What really struck the chord though was her rant about this movie that she had seen talking about The Black Dahlia. She gave me such grief about how beautiful the girl was and how even in death she would have been a better child than I have ever been. She sat at the table and watched me as I finished washing the dishes…and then she spoke her final words to me. It rang something to the tune of, '_I wish you had never been born. You have made my life Hell. I hope you die miserable and alone_.' Then she walked out my door.

"I had gotten pretty used to her verbal assaults, but this, this…this was just too much-uh." Jack stared into Harleen's eyes for a moment, making sure that she grasped the situation. "As I stared into the dish water, the gleam of the knife reflected, albeit blurrily, through the water. It showed a reflection of everything that I did not want to see at the moment. I grabbed the handle." He mimed holding a knife. "And then I threw it like a dart into the door where my mother had left a few seconds earlier." He did this motion as well, and Harleen could have sworn that something flew from his hand.

"As I watched the light dance off of the blade as it swayed from side…to…uh side…I found a true beauty. A thought popped into the old noggin as I walked towards the door and I knew the one way to grasp-uh her affection. I would give her beauty in the face of a dead star. I would be as lovely in life as the Black Dahlia had been in death."

Harleen listened to the story as her eyes shown with disbelief and deep concern. She did not dare to interrupt until the tale was over and didn't have an idea of what she would have said if she wanted to interrupt.

"I pried the knife from my door. There were still a few soap suds clinging to it. I bit down and pushed the knife back towards my jaw. Blood flowed into my mouth but it was so intense that the only pain I felt came from my mother moments earlier. As my smile rivaled that of the Cheshire Cat, I realized that reality was fading. I grasped the phone and got out 3 numbers and an address and then the world closed in." Harleen's jaw dropped but she did not say a word.

"I awoke to bright light above me, the taste of pennies and found gauze covering my new smile. They held me there for sometime and placed me under suicide watch. I was never suicidal. I just wanted to please my mother." A small explosion of laughter warped into a serious face.

"And did this…cry for attention…get you what you desired?" asked Dr. Quinzel.

"Weren't you paying attention earlier? I said that her I had already heard her last words to me. That should tell you... the answer is a ree-sound-ding…No. My mother never got home that night, or out of my apartment building for that matter. Gotham City is a rough place…especially in the slums. As she was leaving my building, she was robbed, raped, and murdered." Jack said this without any emotion in just a matter of fact way.

"I explained my situation numerous times to those who watched over me during my stay at the hospital. I finally convinced them to let me out so that I could get back to my normal life. The only condition of the deal was, non-ne-goat-she-abe-ale. And that is what brings me to your door step, Ms. Quinn."

Jack brought back his Mr. Rogers voice. "And that kids, is the end of our story. I hope that you enjoyed it. Come back next time for another tale from my big book of life." He closed the invisible book, clapping his hands as it shut. Harleen was not expecting a sound from an invisible book and jumped back a few inches.

"Is that just a story or the truth?" She asked hoping that it didn't come off as an intrusion or an accusation.

"If I told you that where would the magic of the story be…uh…Dollface." He turned and walked out of the room. Part of Harleen prayed he would never come back while another part wished that he would turn around right now and walk into her office.


	4. Chapter 4

From the moment that Jack Napier left her building, Harleen Quinzel spent the next week of her live wondering when he would next appear in her office. She took comfort in the fact that he hadn't barged into the room demanding priority over her other patients. But this comfort was diminished by the fear that he could return at any moment. The way he had handle himself during their "session" had indicated that he was "slightly" unpredictable. Another Wednesday had arrived and Harleen hoped to get some paperwork done. Jack Napier, however, had other plans.

Harleen sat behind her desk and sorted papers into flimsy folders. Her world was composed of the sound of the papers sliding and flipping against each other. Chaos was brought into her world when she heard Fran yelling as someone approached. "No! You can't go in there! Dr. Quinzel is busy with her work! Oh for the love of God!" "I think that she will be…uh…expecting me." Footsteps neared the door and then there was a brief silence.

Both of the office doors swung inward at once. Standing in the entrance was a blur of purple. Jack Napier was sporting a purple and green suit. The pants and the jacket were rich purple, while the vest was a little lighter of a shade, and then the shirt was a patterned green that looked more like a curtain or a tablecloth than a shirt. His eyes were covered by large purple stars in golden frames. He strutted like he was on a catwalk. His slim frame helped the appearance. He got to Harleen's desk and slid the suit jacket off and tossed it onto her.

Harleen stared with a look of mild annoyance at the man standing in her office in a purple and green suit. Through purple tinted glass his green eyes peered at her scouting for the hint of a smile or laugh. No hint was to be found.

"What-uh is your deal, toots?" Jack Napier placed his hands on Harleen's desk. "That is comedy gold! Anyone else would be on the floor laughing. Yet, you…uh…sit here…un-A-mused…" Jack sat on the couch. "So, let's get this talking over with."

"What talk would that be, Jack?"

"The talk where you tell me that I am beyond all hope and that I should just give it up and live my life as uh Fur-reak." Jack placed his hands behind his head and crossed his legs as he lie down as if he were about to relax. He turned his head to stare at Harleen and await her response.

"No one is beyond hope, Jack."

Jack looked at her with an inquisitive look. "Do you honestly believe that, Ms. Quinn? That no one is beyond hope? What would your mentors think of your naivety?"

"They would celebrate my optimism on the matter, Mr. Napier. And it is not Ms. Quinn. I will ask you to refer to me as Dr. Quinzel."

Jack Napier started laughing, bringing his hands from behind his head to lie on his stomach. "Missssss Quinzel, now I have E-Ven less confidence in your qualifications. Your age had been dismissed on account of your spirit. Now, with this…uh…revelation of your mentor's attitudes, I daresay that you are drast-ick-a-lee in-com-pet-ent. Any shrink must have a degree of reality set in to outweigh your high hopes."

"I would hate to have your bleak outlook on life, Jack Napier."

"And I, Ms. Quinn, would huh-ate to have your lack of comedy. And as to my outlook on life, I am at quite a luh-veh-lee disposition." He licked his lips with a snake flick of a tongue. "Have you ever seen another soul with a constant smile this wide?" Jack burst out in laughter falling off of the couch into the floor. He dusted off his jacket and reclaimed his seat. The star glasses however remained behind on the floor.

"I can't say that I have, however, most people do not etch their smiles into their face. The beauty of a smile is that it is a fleeting indication of that person's happiness at that moment, a window into their soul if you will." Harleen brought her hands together and Jack couldn't help but to think of Mr. Burns. He briefly wondered if she would follow up her speech with, "Excellent."

"So, what is it that you are in-sin-you-ate-in' Doc'?" Jack arched his eyebrows. "Are you trying to saying that my smile is not an indication of my soul? That it…uh…tells nothing about…yours…truly? Maybe I am just always happy. Didja not happen to ponder that option in that…uh…noggin' of yours?" He licked his lips and waited for a response.

_That option never did cross my mind and I just think that you are a miserable little fuck that watched Ichi the Killer one too many times! _was what run through her head but not what left her mouth. "Maybe you're right, Jack. However, I am willing to bet that you can recall a time when you were smiling on the outside but crying on the inside. Do you recall a time like that?' Harleen adopted a façade of compassion that this profession had helped develop.

"Ya…yeah…I can remember the sad times." Jack buried his face into hands to hide the tears. The hand slid away and revealed laughter. "Gotcha! The only reason I wear a smile all the time is because I am smiling all the time." Jack slid his fingers along the scars to point out his smile. "Once you re-uh-lize the pointlessness of it all, taking life like a joke is all that you can do to keep from going insane. Just look at me. I wasted my life seeking approval from a person that had despised me from birth…and now that goal is out of the question, I always have a smile on my face." He roared with laughter, a hyena in a man suit. He wiped a tear from his eye and put his laughter on hold. "I think that this has been a good talk. Now I will see you next Wednesday. Same Jack time, same Jack channel. Now, seriously, Doc'…you've got to lighten up." A trail of laughter followed him out her door and to the elevator. Harleen rubbed her eyelids. She thought that this day would never be the same again.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack Napier had set a date to return and with that Harleen Quinzel felt relieved that she would have a week before his return

Jack Napier had set a date to return and with that Harleen Quinzel felt relieved that she would have a week before his return. She planned to get back into her normal weekly routine with a few slight alterations to allow her to accommodate Jack Napier on Wednesdays. She started taking her work home and doing the paperwork on her own time. Since her work consumed her life and left nothing more, she figured that this was an acceptable inconvenience.

It had been two workdays and one weekend and the only noticeable loss was the knowledge of what happened on the most recent episode of ER. A slight obsession with John Stamos was one of the very few traits that had persevered and lasted throughout her life. As she aged she had cast aside her childish qualities to fortify herself against the cruel, harsh world. Her humor had faded as she viewed it as a sign of weakness. Yet, alas, her biggest Achilles' heel may be her irrational fear of handing herself over to her emotions.

Monday morning began in the office just as it had for as long as the office had been running. People droned on about their lives and what they perceived as life-threatening issues. Most were diagnosed as having anxiety disorders but nothing major. They functioned fine, avoided most of their problems and vented to Dr. Quinzel about the unavoidable ones. This seemed to be a mutualistic symbiosis. She made a living off of them and in return she lifted the world's weight off of their shoulders.

Her current patient was prattling on about his irrational fear. He would shake and turn white at the slightest hint of death. Skeletons and ghosts were right out of his comfort zone. Harleen stared blankly as she drew small scribbles on her notepad to give the impression of interest. She had gotten used to sitting through these drear monologues with "undivided" attention in the past…but that was before she had met an actual interesting patient. Now the stories seemed even more dry than usual and she had to fight to stay awake.

"…and that is when he started dancing and singing…that skeleton…It was horrible! They should put up warnings around those TVs. I remember days when they wouldn't play that such filth on display where everyone could see. I remember going white and descending and the next thing that I remember is waking up on the cold floor surrounded by blue vests and khaki pants…"

Dr. Quinzel lost her focus and went off into her own little world. She still feigned great interest and her patient was none-the-wiser. The white of the paper rapidly decreased as her pen declared domination. And her patient droned on…and then…

The door burst open and a mobile skeleton slid in. And slightly behind it was a man in a white doctor's jacket. Red scars blared from his cheeks. One foot was balancing on the metal cross that supported the rack of bones while the other stretched out behind pushing off of the ground. He had made the skeleton into a scooter. As he slid into the room both sets of eyes fell upon him. Harleen focused on Jack and then onto her notebook as it closed in to hide her face. The patient eyed the skeleton closing in on him and then his eyes rolled in upward as he fell to the floor in a faint.

"Hello…uh…toots. I couldn't stay away." Jack's expression stretched into a wide smile.

"Fran! Could you call someone? Mr…umm…Mr. Morte has…fainted." Flustered by the situation Harleen struggled to expel the words.

"Right away, boss." Fran yelled from the other room. And Harleen heard the phone slide out of its base.

Harleen spun her chair as she bolted towards the unconscious Mr. Morte. Jack rolled the skeleton in a diagonal line in an attempt to intersect Dr. Quinzel. They came into proximity a few feet from the patient.

Harleen paused to focus on Jack in an attempt to discover his intent. Fire shined in her eyes as her fury engulfed her. She stood her ground and was not yet ready to strangle a patient. That would look bad on her résumé.

"Why so serioussss?" Jack sneered. He flicked his wrist and a coiled pointer slid from the white sleeve and into his grip. With another flick it reached its full length. Harleen was almost in awe that Jack had not added lightsaber sound effects.

With an earsplitting crack the pointer landed on the elbow of the anatomical structure.

"Zhis here would zheem to be vyour problem," a German accent for today's session it would seem, "Vyou lack zhee fundamental element for laughter…zhee funny bone. In a normal human being it vould be right zhere. But wiff zyou…?" He lifted his hands and shrugged to demonstrate his lack of information on the matter. "Zhis a most curious mystery."

One side of Harleen's lip began to curl as if a smile was trying to escape, but the fury held it in and tried to altogether deny its existence. A deep breath caused her body to rise and fall and then she recollected her composure.

"I thought that you said you would be back next Wednesday, Jack." A small quiver in her voice was the only hint of her anger. "You can't just barge in, unannounced at the expense of another person's time. They need my help, probably…maybe…about as much as you do."

"Uh…No, no, and no. You make a good point…but…uh…fail to realize where you are wrong. I can just "barge" in here as you put it, because…uh…as you can see, I just did. Annnd the only way that I have previously made my entrance is at the expensssse, of another's time. I took your time." He licked his lips and rolled his eyes. "And if anyone's time should be more important than mine," he focused his glance on the man on the floor, "It's not his. It would be yours. Uh…after all…you get paid for sharing your tuh-ime. And lastly, it is not I who needs your help, but you…who…uh…needs mine."


	6. Chapter 6

Me…

_Me….Need…Him? _Harleen thought _That's a well deserved laugh if that's what he's seeking._ Her gazed turned to stone and disbelief.

"I guess then that your forced participation in these sessions is just the misdirected attempts by those in power to bring down someone with such a," she paused searching for the right word, "blossoming personality as yours." Immediately she knew that her emotions had trumped her professional coolness and she hoped that she would not regret it.

Jack arched one of his eyebrows and stared deeply into Harleen. His lips smacked as he warmed up to vocalize his opinions. A quick flicker of a smile emerged before he began to talk.

"They are just the uneducated…the average populace. They fail to see what surrounds them. They do not ack-now-ledge what is right before their eyes." Jack walked over to the chair he normally sat in and slid off his jacket, slumped it over the back of the chair, and then took his seat. The unconscious man serves him as a very distasteful footrest. "They are all like our Mr. Morte here. All of them are too pathetic to take care of their own problems. It makes me want to laugh." A loud chuckle warded off the thought of silence.

A moment of hesitation and then the she allowed the question to be asked. "And just what is it that the fail to see, Mr. Napier?"

"How funny the joke is. The average layman fails to acknowledge the humor associated with all of life." Laughter erupted from the small man and interrupted his speech. "If you take it too seriously, it will just bring you down. Sometimes you just have to take…the…uh…the in-it-ia-tive and bring a smile back to your face." He stretched his lips tight forming a sadistic grin. Yellow teeth dully reflected the light from the room. A jagged smile took over his face as creases and dimples bore a slight resemblance to a set of stitches.

His smile loosed its grip on his visage and he returned to looking somewhat normal. Sirens screamed in the distance announcing that help for Mr. Morte was on its way. Morte was still under Jack's feet serving to function as a foot prop. Harleen was lost to the world still trying to sort out the sordid affair in her mind. Jack arched his fingers and they met to form a bony triangle. He peered over his fingers anticipating Dr. Quinzel's next move. She failed to give one and just sat in a stupor.

Red lights flashed and reflected on the glass of the window. An ambulance had arrived but the paramedics had yet to reach her office.

"Get out! And take your skeleton with you!" The Psychologist said standing up and pointing to the door. "If you're still here when they come for him, that is going to bring about the need to explain so much…Just get out." She ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled from deep within. Her mind was still racing, wrapping around the past few minutes.

Jack Napier calmly stood. His feet slid over the unconscious lump and as he climbed to his feet. He turned, grasped the white jacket and then dropped it over one of his arms where it hung loosely and began to walk out. He draped his arm over the skeleton's shoulders and walked out. They looked as if they were the dearest of friends casually walking out of a movie. As they reached the door to exit her office, he craned his neck looking back over his extended arms and issued a temporary farewell.

"You really need to loosen up, doc."

Harleen slumped into her chair, exhausted and watched as two medics pushed into the room rolling a stretcher along. She watched as the two swarmed around Mr. Morte, loaded him, and exited the room. And then she followed then she followed them out into the lobby and then into the world.

"Cancel the rest of my appointments for today, Fran. I need some 'me' time," Harleen uttered absent-mindedly as she walked past her receptionist.


End file.
